


Coping Mechanism

by barbitone



Series: FE3H Fanfiction [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Canon Era, Explicit Sexual Content, Light Angst, M/M, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:20:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22549984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/barbitone/pseuds/barbitone
Summary: The room is overwarm and Ferdinand, unthinking, undoes the top few buttons of his coat. He thinks nothing of it until he feels Hubert’s gloved fingers sliding in under his collar, dragging against his skin before he pulls the fabric back to bare his neck.Ferdinand is too shocked to react, he can only watch as Hubert’s lips thin into a frown.“So it’s true,” Hubert says.Ferdinand jerks back, flushing as he pulls his collar closed. Flushing as he remembers the distinctive marks one of his lovers had left on his skin two nights before.“I thought it must have only been prurient rumors,” Hubert says, eyes narrowed in something like disgust. “But it’s true. You really are out there- acting like a wantonslut.”
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra, Ferdinand von Aegir/OMC(s)
Series: FE3H Fanfiction [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1829440
Comments: 39
Kudos: 542





	Coping Mechanism

**Author's Note:**

> Sure, yeah, _technically_ I haven't finished Black Eagle route yet (my first run through was Blue Lions) and is it possible that they are a bit OOC??? PERHAPS. And yet, the more supports I unlock for Ferdie the flirtier he seems to get. With literally EVERYONE. So I'm going to have to stand by this reading.

* * *

The first time is an accident.

Or maybe not so much an accident as a foolish impulse, a breaking down of walls Ferdinand hadn’t meant to build and hadn’t realized were crumbling.

It’s late and he’s exhausted. He usually is these days- they all are. After two years the war is at a standstill with no end in sight, no plan, no way forward.

Instead of hopelessly chasing sleep he knows will never come, he’s at the practice yard, trying to train his racing thoughts into stillness for just a single moment. Just a bare instant might be enough. The dummy is even less help than usual and he’s just about ready to throw down his lance in frustration when there are steps at the entrance and he turns to see a young soldier watching him uncertainly.

“General von Aegir,” the soldier says, stepping closer.

Ferdinand forces himself to nod in greeting, trying to place the man. He’s in Caspar’s battalion, perhaps. A minor commander, a swordsman. His name is Mathis? Ferdinand isn’t sure.

“My name is Mathe, General von Aegir,” the soldier says with a salute before he licks his lips and tightens his jaw. “If it’s not too presumptuous of me… perhaps you might care to spar?”

Ferdinand pauses, unsure. But it will be better to fight a man than a wooden block. It will be better to not be alone.

“I am afraid I may make a fool of myself,” he says with a wry smile, pushing his sweaty hair back from his face.

“Certainly not,” Mathe says, stepping closer as he understands the invitation for what it is.

They square off, sword against lance. They start slowly, getting the measure of each other. The soldier is good, and Ferdinand is exhausted. He has no illusions of how the match will end. They clash, steel against steel, and Mathe misses an opening, fails to block Ferdinand’s blow. Ferdinand disarms him and they fall to the sand, Mathe on his back with Ferdinand braced over him.

“You threw the fight,” Ferdinand says with a frown. “Why.”

Does Mathe really think his ego so fragile that he can’t take a loss at the hands of a commoner? Does he think Ferdinand will enact some petty retribution for the outcome of a fair match? Is there more to it, something he’s not seeing? Do others think the same?

Mathe flushes and licks his lips and Ferdinand barely holds back a scowl. Maybe it’s the lack of sleep driving him mad, maybe it’s the way everyone _looks_ at him- with pity and distrust. Like they expect him to desert Edelgard’s cause at any moment and run back to the Empire to rescue his foolish waste of a father. Or worse.

“I just-” Mathe says.

“Just _what,”_ Ferdinand demands, brittle with anger and with something else. There’s something broken inside him and it makes him sick.

“Just-” Mathe breathes out. And then he leans up to press his lips to Ferdinand’s own.

Ferdinand allows it, if only because he’s too shocked to do anything else. This- an illicit kiss stolen in the training yard at midnight- has stopped the racing of his thoughts like nothing else. Not training, not riding. Not anything.

“Sorry,” Mathe says, pulling back. “I just- I’m sorry, General. That was- presumptuous. But I-”

Ferdinand should move back, _off,_ but he’s frozen as he watches Mathe stumble over his words.

“I just wanted-” Mathe is still stuttering. “Just one night. If you were- amenable. It gets… _cold_ at night. I thought you might understand.”

The horrible part is that Ferdinand _does_ understand. When was the last time he’d kissed someone? That someone had kissed him? When was the last time someone had touched him without the intention of doing him harm or the necessity of performing a healing spell? Years, perhaps. It feels like a lifetime.

“It does,” Ferdinand says, his voice very nearly a whisper, “get cold.”

Mathe licks his lips, staring up at him. He’s handsome enough, flushed prettily. He has dark hair, cropped close to his scalp, and bright blue eyes, or maybe green. Ferdinand can feel Mathe’s arousal pressed to his thigh, so he’s clearly eager. And he doesn’t report to Ferdinand directly. 

_Mathe_ was the one who had come here to seek him out. To- to _proposition_ him in a most inappropriate manner.

One night. Surely Ferdinand could have one night.

So he leans down and kisses Mathe, desperate and clumsy. For the first time in a long time he feels properly alive, his heart pumping with something other than the adrenaline that rushes through him during battle and leaves him retching afterwards, out of sight of his men and all the others.

Mathe moans and fists his hands in Ferdinand’s hair and after that things become a haze of wet gasps and bit-off groans, bodies moving together as they wrestle with buttons and laces to get at bare skin.

It’s over rather quickly. They finish together while Mathe has his hand wrapped around the both of their cocks and Ferdinand blinks slowly as he tries to catch his breath.

He can’t quite believe what he’s done even with his spend cooling over his skin. He had- _relations-_ with a practical stranger. In the training yard, where anyone could have walked in and damn the late hour-

“I- I have a private room,” Mathe whispers. “We could-”

“This was- a one time thing,” Ferdinand says as he pushes himself back to kneel so he can tuck his cock away and try to straighten his clothing. “It’s not- this isn’t-”

“It could be a two time thing,” Mathe says with a small smile. “It doesn’t mean anything, I know that. But- we could again. Tonight. In a real bed, with no chance of being disturbed.”

“I-” Ferdinand starts, unsure. He feels more settled after the inelegant tousle in the sand. He wants more. He wants the heat of another’s body pressed against his without layers and layers of cloth and armor between them. He wants so many things. He wants not to be alone.

Damn it all to hell.

He’d already transgressed, hadn’t he? He may as well make it count.

“Alright,” he says at last and feels a bit better at the way Mathe grins.

They steal into Mathe's room in the barracks and it’s not long before they’re kissing again in his narrow bed, undressing each other. The first press of skin against skin is like taking a deep breath after drowning and Ferdinand can’t get enough.

It’s slower the second time, more thorough. They even get around to pulling out the oil and Ferdinand opens Mathe up with careful fingers before Mathe pushes him down to the sheets and rides him, his back arched in pleasure with the moonlight caressing all his lovely pale skin.

Afterwards Ferdinand doesn’t mean to drift off but he can’t help himself. He wakes before dawn and moves to slip out from under the heavy weight of Mathe’s body draped over him.

“We could, again,” Mathe mumbles sleepily as Ferdinand pulls on his boots. Ferdinand startles and looks over to see Mathe’s lips curled up in a satisfied smile. “If you wanted. General.”

Ferdinand flushes and looks down, focused on getting himself back in order. “Perhaps,” he mutters before slipping out into the cool pre-dawn air.

* * *

He feels ashamed at what he’s done.

It’s not becoming of a noble to have some sort of- of- _tumble_ with a soldier. A soldier whose name he hadn’t even known until last night. It’s an abuse of power. A violation on his part.

It hadn’t felt like a violation when Mathe had been clutching at his hair and moaning his name. And he’d _slept_ after. Really slept, restful and dreamless. He hadn’t slept that way since his Academy days.

Still, as Ferdinand sits in the morning meeting with the rest of the Black Eagles, he can’t help feeling like they _know._

It makes him nervous, jumpy. When Hubert spares a glance at him while describing their next objective Ferdinand jerks and nearly spills his cup of tea. Hubert narrows his eyes in suspicion but doesn’t comment further.

Ferdinand shudders and forces himself to focus on the task at hand.

Mathe was a mistake. One he won’t make again. He’ll forget about the whole thing and everything will go back to normal.

Normal dreary days of nothing but fear and worry, lack of sleep and exhaustion so intense it seems to settle bone deep until every part of him is aching. Until all he wants to do is lay down with how _heavy_ he feels, and every time he does he can’t bear to close his eyes, staring at the ceiling until the sun rises once more and gives him an excuse to return to training. An excuse to think about something other than death looming behind every corner.

The thing with Mathe happens again.

And then there’s another young man, a pretty blond with green eyes and skill with a bow. He moans so loudly when Ferdinand fucks him that Ferdinand has to cover his mouth with his hand, which only seems to make him more eager.

Then there’s a brawler with muscles to rival Raphael’s whose kisses taste like coffee, and then a dark mage with red hair and freckles who’s quick to laugh. He smells of lightning and smoke, of power and freedom. There are a few warlocks in quick succession, then Mathe again, and finally Ferdinand can’t lie to himself anymore.

This has become a _thing._

He never goes looking for partners, by some unspoken agreement they all come to him. It’s not… noble, or honorable. But they’re all more than willing, and Ferdinand is too. And it’s a fine enough form of stress relief, fucking. It lets him sleep more than an hour at a time without being interrupted by nightmares, and so long as no one gets hurt or deceived, where’s the harm?

He’s not entirely lost his ideals, so he sets rules for himself.

No women. He won’t leave some young woman _inconvenienced_ after a meaningless fling, and certainly not during a war.

No one from his own battalion. He won’t have relations with anyone who reports directly to him in battle. Not only is it stretching the inherent power imbalance to the limit, but it puts them all at risk on the battlefield to have such… _complicated_ feelings.

No gossips, or anyone else with a propensity for _indiscretion._ He will not flaunt himself or his lovers, if they could be called that. He will keep his trysts private, keep to late-night encounters and make sure he’s not shirking his daytime duties.

His rules serve him well, and as he continues his liaisons- usually sneaking out of their rooms before dawn- he sees others performing that same lonesome trek back to their own bunks. He’s far from the only one to seek comfort in the arms of another and that makes him feel better, somewhat.

Weeks pass and he loses track of how many men he’s slept with, and when. It doesn’t seem to matter. He feels more focused, more steady. The future seems less grim. And what’s wrong with that? Why shouldn’t he have something that makes him happy? Some small bit of light in the darkness?

He stops feeling ashamed after a while. Right up until a drawn-out meeting with Hubert going over battle plans. 

They’re in Hubert’s room, pouring over maps and strategies. The room is overwarm and Ferdinand, unthinking, undoes the top few buttons of his coat. He thinks nothing of it until he feels Hubert’s gloved fingers sliding in under his collar, dragging against his skin before he pulls the fabric back to bare his neck.

Ferdinand is too shocked to react, he can only watch as Hubert’s lips thin into a frown.

“So it’s true,” Hubert says.

Ferdinand jerks back, flushing as he pulls his collar closed. Flushing as he remembers the distinctive marks one of his lovers had left on his skin two nights before.

“I thought it must have only been prurient rumors,” Hubert says, eyes narrowed in something like disgust. “But it’s true. You’re really out there- acting like a wanton _slut.”_

The words feel like a physical blow and there’s bile rising in Ferdinand’s throat as he draws himself up to his full height, even though it sadly still leaves him looking up into Hubert’s eyes. 

_“How dare you,”_ he demands, his voice shaking. “I am-” _Ferdinand von Aegir,_ he doesn’t finish. What does it matter? He has no lands, no power. His title means nothing.

“You’re comporting yourself like a common whore,” Hubert hisses in return.

“Fuck you,” Ferdinand responds and watches Hubert narrow his eyes. “Have there been complaints about my conduct?”

For once Hubert seems taken aback. “No,” he answers tightly.

“Then I will kindly ask you to keep your opinions to yourself,” Ferdinand says, his hands drawn into fists at his side. He glances down at the map they’d been reviewing before taking a step backwards. “If we are finished here, I would like to go.”

“We’re not finished,” Hubert says. As always, Ferdinand can’t read the expression in his eyes.

“Yes,” he says, his words clipped and cold. “We are.”

He turns and storms out, not sure where his feet are taking him until he finds himself on the training grounds. Mathe is there supervising his men, and Ferdinand walks towards him with purpose.

“General von Aegir,” Mathe says, surprised. He looks pleased that Ferdinand has sought him out, the look over his face working wonders to ease some of Ferdinand’s hurt. Here is a man who doesn’t hide his intentions, who doesn’t hide behind duty and loyalty and simply speaks his desires.

“Tonight?” Ferdinand asks, quietly hopeful. “My quarters.”

Mathe smiles before he manages to stamp it down and look away, blushing faintly. Ferdinand has never invited him to his rooms. He’s never invited anyone.

“Yes,” Mathe says with a small nod. “Tonight.”

If Ferdinand fucks him more forcefully than usual that night, Mathe doesn’t seem to mind. Ferdinand feels amazing, powerful and wanted as he sinks his hand into Mathe’s dark hair, longer now than it had been that first night, long enough to get a proper fistful by which to pull his head back and urge him to bare his throat. Ferdinand marks it with abandon, losing his reason in the face of the pure animal pleasure of their coupling.

Afterwards Mathe turns and Ferdinand is shocked at the sight of his face. Somehow- that wasn’t the face he was expecting to see. Which is foolish, what other face was he expecting? He manages to cover his odd reaction by retrieving a washcloth to wipe the both of them down before settling in bed.

“Should I go?” Mathe asks, sleepy and warm tucked against Ferdinand’s side.

“You can stay if you like,” Ferdinand says. He feels oddly appeased when Mathe simply sighs and presses closer.

He wakes to a knock on his door and Mathe still curled around him. For a moment Ferdinand thinks he might ignore the interruption, but the knock comes again.

He rises with a sigh and pulls on a pair of breeches, not bothering with a shirt.

When he opens the door he isn’t surprised to see Hubert on the other side, fully dressed and pristine as usual, though maybe the shadows under his eyes have grown darker.

“Have you come to call me a slut again,” Ferdinand says flatly, narrowing his eyes. He knows what he looks like- disheveled and freshly fucked. His hair is a mess and there are love bites up and down his chest, some fresh and some on the verge of fading.

Hubert’s lips tighten into a thin line as he drags his gaze down Ferdinand’s body, no doubt in disgust. Ferdinand doesn’t care what he thinks one way or another. Let him be disgusted. It’s still better than being ignored.

“The briefing for this month’s mission,” Hubert says, shoving a sheaf of papers towards his chest. “You missed the morning meeting.”

“Thank you,” Ferdinand says tightly, flipping through the pages while Hubert’s frown deepens as he peers into the room to see Mathe, still tangled in the bedsheets.

“Don’t make a habit of shirking your duties,” Hubert says.

Ferdinand glares up at him. The sneer feels unfamiliar and uncomfortable over his face, but it’s the only expression he can manage at the moment. “Do not worry. I will make sure to fit in my duties around all my _whoring.”_

Hubert swallows, looking down. He seems almost vulnerable for a moment, and Ferdinand isn’t sure if it’s a trick of the light or if he can detect a flush over Hubert’s cheeks.

“I didn’t mean-” Hubert starts.

Ferdinand slams the door shut in his face, his heart racing with the shocking satisfaction of it. He feels oddly frozen, caught and held, until he hears the shuffle of footsteps outside, Hubert finally walking away.

All of the sudden the satisfaction fades into nothing, leaving him feeling something akin to grief instead.

“I’d better go,” Mathe says from the bed and Ferdinand startles.

“Oh,” he says. “Of course.”

“This was fun,” Mathe says, smiling as he pulls on his clothes. “It was- you were good.”

“Yes,” Ferdinand says. “Thank you.”

Mathe doesn’t kiss him on the way out, because that’s not what they do. Their relationship, if it can be called that, belongs strictly in the shadows. It’s been enough this whole time, but suddenly Ferdinand wonders if maybe he might not want something more.

* * *

He stops being so careful about his third rule- discretion. Clearly Hubert knows, and if Hubert knows Edelgard knows, and then-

Everyone does.

What does it matter? He’s not doing anything wrong, or criminal, or immoral.

If everyone wants to think he’s a slut like Hubert does, then what does Ferdinand care?

The only one who seems concerned is Hubert, anyway. He throws Ferdinand dark looks during meetings, and tries to catch him in conversation during their free moments. Ferdinand ignores him, shakes him off.

Hubert isn’t his keeper, he doesn’t get a say in who Ferdinand fucks.

He feels freer, not worrying about what people think of him. He feels almost good.

Right up until Hubert corners him in the remains of the chapel. It’s late, and he’s alone. When he hears footsteps behind him he knows who it is without turning. He supposes he should be grateful that Hubert is making sound at all. He’s perfectly capable of sneaking up on whoever he wants to sneak up on.

“What do you want,” Ferdinand says without turning.

“I want-” Hubert seems oddly uncertain as he pauses a few paces behind him. 

“Have I been more whorish than usual?” Ferdinand asks cruelly, turning. Hubert seems oddly uncertain and Ferdinand doesn’t know what to do with that.

“I want you to stop,” Hubert says, not quite looking at him.

“Excuse me?” Ferdinand asks, furious as he steps closer, invading Hubert’s space. “That is not for you to decide.”

“I want you to _stop,”_ Hubert says, looking at him at last. His acid green gaze seems intense, which only winds Ferdinand tighter.

“I will do what I like,” he hisses, _“who_ I like. As many times as I like, so long as it pleases me. What business is it of yours?”

“Please,” Hubert says, drawing Ferdinand to an abrupt stop. He’d never heard Hubert say _please_ before.

“No,” Ferdinand says, in no mood to be kind or charitable. He’s aching with how much he needs human closeness, regard. With how much he needs some sort of care and consolation. “It is the only thing that makes me feel at all _good_ these days. I do not expect you to understand what it is like to desire another’s touch.”

For a moment there’s silence and Ferdinand can only hope Hubert will finally leave.

Hubert doesn’t leave. He steps forward to grab the lapels of Ferdinand’s coat. There’s nothing Ferdinand can do to resist the way Hubert drags him forward, kissing him sloppily.

Ferdinand gasps and Hubert takes advantage to press his tongue into his mouth, his eyes shut tight while Ferdinand lets him, shocked.

Finally he has the strength to shove Hubert away, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, breathing harshly.

“Don’t put yourself out on my account,” he snarls, furious. “I am sorry that you had to waste your time on me and my whorish ways when you could be attending to your lady.”

He turns to go, only to stop when he hears-

“I do.”

He turns, moving slowly to look back at Hubert standing behind him, pale and wide-eyed, oddly lost.

“I do know what it’s like to desire another’s touch. But I’m not so- so- _undiscerning_ as you.”

Ferdinand stares as it all finally comes together. “You want me,” he says at last, more question than statement.

He can see now the flush staining Hubert’s cheeks, the way he purses his lips. Suddenly Ferdinand sees the common thread tying all his lovers together- black hair, green eyes, the sharp tang of magic dancing over their skin- and knows he wants Hubert too.

“You do,” he says in the face of Hubert’s silence. “Say it.”

Hubert looks away, fidgeting with the edges of his gloves, his coat.

 _“Say it,”_ Ferdinand all but snarls, not feeling particularly charitable. “Say you want me. Say it, or I will leave. Say it!” 

“I want you,” Hubert manages quietly, like he’s sharing a secret.

Ferdinand can’t help a gasp, knowing a victory for what it is, for how hard-won it is. He steps forward and drags Hubert into a desperate kiss, not caring how sloppy or wet it is, how clumsy.

Hubert kisses like he’s never kissed anyone before, and maybe he hasn’t. Maybe Ferdinand is his first and that feels like a different sort of victory.

He drags himself away to stare at the wreck he’s made of Hubert, his flushed cheeks and mussed hair. He looks so painfully _human_ in that moment, his composure gone, that Ferdinand can hardly bear it.

“Come on,” he says, taking Hubert’s hand and leading him out of the chapel, back to his room.

Hubert might be taller, but he’s all wiry muscle while Ferdinand has a soldier’s strength, his body just another well-honed weapon. Hubert lets himself be manhandled as Ferdinand shoves him against the wall to kiss him, scrabbling at the fastenings of his cloak.

Distantly he’s aware of Hubert making small desperate sounds- not _moans,_ that sort of thing is beyond him, but _sounds._ Gasps, broken noises almost like words falling from his lips unbidden. Hubert’s clutching at him too, trying to wrestle him out of his armor, but Ferdinand only cares about getting at bare untouched skin. Untouched until now.

He manages to help enough to get his own gauntlets off, mostly so he’ll have more dexterity with which to attack all of Hubert’s stupid _buckles._ And then he’s got Hubert’s coat pushed off his shoulders and Hubert’s pulling off his gloves and raising his shaking hands up to card through Ferdinand’s hair.

His _bare_ hands cradle Ferdinand’s face and Ferdinand realizes he’s never seen Hubert’s _hands_ before. He turns his face so he can pull two of Hubert’s fingers into his mouth. When he sucks Hubert makes another _noise,_ like a moan but not quite. He tastes of lightning and poison, of leather and iron and salt.

“Bed,” Ferdinand says, pulling back just long enough to take Hubert by the front of his shirt and drag him back, push him down.

Ferdinand pushes his own coat and shirt off before making quick work of Hubert’s, kissing every inch of skin he can reach as he makes his way downwards. Hubert is practically quivering beneath him and it feels heady enough that Ferdinand laughs.

“Have you done this before?” he asks as he opens the buttons of Hubert’s trousers.

“Not as many times as _you,”_ Hubert hisses. He’s trying to be his usual terrifying self, Ferdinand can tell. The effect is ruined by his flushed cheeks and his blown pupils, the way his chest is rising and falling- he’s excited like he never is, not even during battle.

“So no,” Ferdinand says, pulling Hubert’s cock out of his disheveled clothing. It’s just as slender and flushed as the rest of him, pale and pretty. Ferdinand doesn’t give Hubert a chance to respond before moving to take him in his mouth, swirling his tongue over the sensitive head.

They both moan and Hubert melts into the sheets as he clutches at Ferdinand’s hair. Not pulling, just holding.

Ferdinand moves over him, tasting him, feeling powerful as Hubert falls apart under his touch. He knows that Hubert is close by the way he’s gasping for breath, and just when he feels Hubert tensing like he’s about to come, he pulls back.

“Damn you,” Hubert says, breathy and indignant, and Ferdinand laughs.

He pulls off the rest of their clothes and straddles Hubert before reaching for the oil on his bedside table, slicking his fingers and bringing them back to his own entrance.

Hubert’s eyes widen as he watches Ferdinand prepare himself.

“They say-” he starts, breaking off to lick his lips. “They say you prefer it the other way around.”

“Sometimes,” Ferdinand says with a smile. It feels more impersonal that way, but that doesn’t mean that’s what he _prefers,_ not always.

“Don’t- don’t make exceptions for me,” Hubert says, somehow managing to be brittle even as he lays sprawled out naked over Ferdinand’s sheets. He almost looks offended, which nearly brings Ferdinand to laughter once more.

“Do you touch yourself?” Ferdinand asks, his words steady even as he pushes a third finger inside himself.

“What sort of question is that?” Hubert hisses, offended. He looks away and throws an arm over his face, his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. “I- I’m a man like any other. I have… desires.”

“Do you touch yourself, inside,” Ferdinand asks. “Like how I am touching myself now.”

“I- what business is that of yours?”

Ferdinand laughs. “You could not take me,” he says, pumping his fingers into himself steadily.

“I could,” Hubert says, but he doesn’t know what he’s asking for. He’s never done this before, and Ferdinand is going to make sure his first time has him coming back for more, again and again and again.

“No,” Ferdinand whispers, giddy as he pulls his fingers free and shifts so he can lower himself onto Hubert’s cock.

The first thrust is smooth and perfect, deep. Ferdinand moans, bracing his hands on Hubert’s chest and arching his back in search of the perfect angle. Hubert lets out a shocked breath and clutches at his hips as Ferdinand starts to move.

It’s so easy, so _good._ Ferdinand hasn’t let himself have this in such a long time but it’s amazing to finally let go- to savor the stretch of Hubert’s cock inside him.

Hubert seems frozen, unsure. He seems like he’s holding himself back so Ferdinand leans down to kiss him, still moving.

“Fuck me,” he whispers, and Hubert tightens his lips and _moves,_ bracing his feet on the bed for leverage before letting himself fuck up into Ferdinand’s welcoming body.

“Yes,” he moans. “Like that- just like that- keep going.”

“Must you- _speak?”_ Hubert says, his voice strangled and heavy with pleasure, and Ferdinand laughs, bending to kiss Hubert’s thin lips and thrusting his tongue into Hubert’s poisonous mouth.

It takes forever and it’s over too soon. Hubert comes first, letting out a sound like a strangled shout, his back arching and his hands tightening claw-like over Ferdinand’s thighs.

Ferdinand comes soon after, fisting his cock until he spills over Hubert’s pale stomach.

The aftermath seems oddly tense as Ferdinand moves to drop into the sheets beside Hubert, his back nearly pressed to the wall and one of his thighs still draped over Hubert’s hips.

For a minute there’s silence, and then Hubert grimaces. “Do you have a cloth?”

Ferdinand feels oddly entranced as he watches the rise and fall of Hubert’s chest, his skin covered in Ferdinand’s spend.

“No,” he says as he trails his fingers through it, smearing his semen over Hubert’s skin. He wants to mark Hubert as his, so everyone will know. He doesn’t want Hubert to wipe it off.

Hubert grimaces, twisting away. “They say you’re more considerate towards your conquests than this.” His grasping hand finds a bit of cloth- Ferdinand’s cravat- and he brings it up to wipe at himself half heartedly.

“You are so focused on what they say,” Ferdinand murmurs, moving to drape his arm over Hubert’s chest. He’s slim and wiry, covered in scars. He’s not a warrior, but Edelgard fights on the front lines and Hubert insists on fighting beside her.

Ferdinand traces an arrow wound on his shoulder, the long-healed slash of a sword over his chest, an old bruise from a brawler’s fist marking his side.

Hubert breathes out in a huff. He’s offended again and Ferdinand doesn’t know why.

Eventually Hubert sits up, dislodging Ferdinand’s wandering fingers. He pulls on his shirt while Ferdinand watches, disappointed but not surprised.

“Must I share you with Edelgard even tonight?” he asks, his voice a wounded whisper.

Hubert stiffens. “It seems I must share you with half the garrison and the entire mage corps. We all make sacrifices.”

He starts on his buttons while Ferdinand watches, his heart pounding. “What if you did not have to share me with anyone?” he asks at last.

Hubert pauses.

“If you did not have to share me- would you stay with me tonight?”

Hubert sighs and goes back to his buttons, not looking at him. “You were right, earlier,” he says, his voice shaking like it’s costing him something to force the words out. “It’s no business of mine. Do as you like.”

“Maybe you were right, instead,” Ferdinand says, reaching out to press his hand to Hubert’s hip, still bare. “Maybe I should be more discerning.”

Hubert freezes once more and Ferdinand knows he’s _thinking_ too much. He pulls on the edge of Hubert’s sleeve. When that gets no response, he does it again.

“Stay,” he whispers when Hubert finally looks back. “Please stay.”

For a long moment they’re at a stalemate, but then Hubert looks away. “What if you kick me in your sleep.”

“If one of us has to worry about what the other might do to them in their sleep, it should be me,” Ferdinand counters.

Hubert’s lips quirk up into an almost smile before he lowers himself back into bed, still wearing his shirt.

Ferdinand smiles as he wraps an arm around Hubert’s middle, dragging him closer.

“Must you- _cling_ to me like a viper?” Hubert asks, his voice muffled in the pillow and vaguely offended.

“Oh yes,” Ferdinand says. “How else can I be sure that you won’t sneak off in the middle of the night to go polish your lady’s boots?”

“That- that’s not what it’s like,” Hubert mumbles, annoyed. But Ferdinand can feel him relaxing in his arms, melting like he hadn’t earlier, while they’d been fucking.

“Good night, Hubert,” Ferdinand whispers, giddy at using Hubert’s name and Hubert allowing it.

“...Good night,” Hubert says at last. “Ferdinand.”

  
  


_fin._

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr at [barbitone](http://barbitone.tumblr.com/) and pillowfort also at [barbitone](https://www.pillowfort.io/barbitone)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Find a Little Company](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25346644) by [barbitone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/barbitone/pseuds/barbitone)




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